


Too Long Too Far From Home

by Chash



Series: Holiday Fills 2018 [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Graceling fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-02 21:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16795165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke's father told her it would be hard, being graced and a princess. She would always be torn between two worlds.Of course, he didn't know a coup was coming. Once the Arcadian royal family is ousted, she doesn't have any responsibilities. She can just be a healer, anonymous and hidden.But that's not what she wants.





	Too Long Too Far From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [millipop](http://millipop.tumblr.com/)!

Clarke doesn't remember many conversations with her father. She's sure the conversations happened, knows she must have spent plenty of time with him before he died, but the only real talk she can remember was a few weeks before the coup, when he told her what it meant to be graced and a royal.

"It's not simple," he explained, in his gentle, smiling way. He wasn't a graceling himself, but he had a royal cousin who was a graceling, so he did understand. "Being a royal is already a calling, and being graced is having another calling. Unless your grace is to rule, which would be lucky."

"How will I know what my grace is?" she asked.

"It will come to you." He smiled down at her, warm and gentle. "Be patient, there's no rush."

He'd been more right than he knew; the revolution came less than a month later, and Clarke wasn't a princess any longer. Lord Marcus managed to get her out of the palace and to safety while someone else had the terrible job of making it look as if she had died. Clarke's never known what exactly they did or how they faked a dead child, and she tries not to think about it. She was six; she didn't have any say in what happened.

At seventeen, she sometimes feels as if she doesn't have much more of a say in what happens to her.

"We have a man who's been shot," Eric tells her, pulling her from her own thoughts. "I could use a hand."

"Coming," says Clarke.

Personally, she thinks her healing grace could have been good, if she was still a princess. She could have healed people and still ruled, as long as she didn't overexert herself.

Lord Marcus would say that didn't sound possible, and he might have been right too. Clarke's not good at idleness, but that's part of being an orphaned, dethroned princess too. It always feels like she should be doing _something_ , and as long as she can't be doing something to take her throne back from the rebellion that seized it, she has to be doing something else.

Like healing a man with an arrow wound. That should take her mind off things for a while.

Eric is a good healer, but he's ungraced, which means he'll never be _as_ good as Clarke. If he resents her for this, he's never mentioned it, but she always has to wonder. He brings her in for difficult cases and leaves her there and knows that she'll save people he never could. It has to be a good thing, for him. That's why he became a healer, to save lives, and Clarke can help.

But if it was her, she'd still be just a little bit jealous. For all she'd hate it.

"Do we know how he was injured?" she asks.

"Hunting accident, he said. Dressed too darkly in the woods, shot by mistake."

"Careless."

Eric shrugs, holding the door open for her. "We all make mistakes. Let me know if you need anything."

The man on the table is younger than Clarke expected, probably only a few years older than she is. He's pressing the arrow into his flesh, face contorted in pain. It _was_ a bad hit; Clarke can see how his organs must be ruptured, how long he has before that alone kills him. It's a wonder he's still awake, if she's honest. He's lucky he was close enough they could bring him to her, or he probably wouldn't have made it.

"Hello, I'm Claire," she says, washing her hands in the basin. "I'm going to need to take that arrow out."

"Go ahead," says the man, voice tight but even. "I'm not that attached to it."

"It's pretty attached to you. Do you want something to bite down on?"

"Please."

He opens his mouth for the leather strip and bites down on it as soon as it's in his mouth, which turns out to be reflective of how he is as a patient on the whole. The pain must be incredible, but he remains cooperative and compliant, dealing with it with an ease that makes Clarke long to see his eyes. They've been closed this whole time, but part of her can't help thinking he _must_ be a graceling of some kind, one who can withstand hurt better than normal people.

"All right," she says, when she's finally done. "You'll need rest, but you'll live."

"Thank you."

"You're lucky you were so close to me."

His eyes open, and she starts--one brown, one gold. He _is_ a graceling. "No, I wasn't."

"Excuse me?"

"It wasn't luck. I was looking for you."

Her heart picks up, beating wildly in her chest, and her left hand searches the table behind her, seeking out something to defend herself with. A scalpel would be best, but there should be other--

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I wouldn't try. You're bigger than I am, but you also took an arrow to the gut." Then again, if he is graced, and he got shot on purpose just to see her, he could have been faking the pain, too. Maybe his grace is to keep going, no matter what.

"Yeah, I noticed." His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "I'm here to ask for your help. Or maybe offer you mine. It depends on how you feel about Arcadia."

The hair on the back of her neck stands up. "I've never been."

"Huh." He's quiet for a minute, and all Clarke can hear is her own wild heartbeat. She's going to have to leave. Move somewhere else, disappear. She might not be able to heal anymore, if someone knows the former Arcadian princess is a graced healer. He can't be the only one who knows, he can't possibly be that stupid. And someone must have agreed to shoot him.

"So, you're not interested in being a princess again?" he finally asks. "Because we need a ruler, and you're our best option."

Thoughts race through her mind, too quickly to pin down. The graceling man is watching her, mismatched eyes steady. He's propped himself up on his elbows on the table, and while there's still pain in his features, it doesn't seem to be slowing him down.

"Who are you?" she finally asks.

"Bellamy. Counter-revolutionary."

"Counter-revolutionary," she repeats.

"I know you haven't been back since the coup," he says. "It wouldn't be safe. But Queen Diana is killing Arcadia, and we need to get her out of power and get someone else in power."

"And you think I'd be better?" she asks. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know that bringing back a lost princess is a great way to get people on your side."

"And what if I'm not the ruler you're looking for?"

Clarke can see him weighing his responses, deciding which one to go with. When he finally says, "If we can overthrow one bad dictator, we can probably get rid of another one," she has to smile.

"So you got yourself shot in the stomach just to ask me to come be the figurehead of your revolution?"

"If it wasn't a bad enough injury, I couldn't be sure they'd send me to you," says Bellamy, as if this is a totally logical reason to let someone put an arrow in him.

Maybe it is. There's a logic to it Clarke has to admire. He knew the princess of Arcadia was a graced healer who wasn't seen out of the infirmary often, and that she was called in for the most dire of cases. So he made himself a dire case, and here he is.

"Are you graced to not feel pain?" she asks.

"If only. It hurts like hell."

She smiles in spite of herself. "You're doing very well."

"Thanks." He wets his lips, moves his elbows so he's flat on his cot again, eyes sliding shut. "We need you, your highness," he murmurs. It sounds like a prayer.

"You can't call me that here."

"Clarke."

The name is like an electric shock. It's no more proof he knows who she is than anything else he'd said; of course he would know her real name, if he also knew that she was the princess. But it's been so long since anyone called her that. Even Marcus calls her Claire, to be safe, so he won't slip up when it matters.

"Not that either."

His expression clouds. "Is that not what you said?"

"You were in a lot of pain. Claire."

"I'm still in a lot of pain."

"Who shot you?"

"My sister. She's our best archer." He winces, and Clarke feels a twinge of guilt. He's been so lucid that she could forget his injury, but if he doesn't have a grace that helps him with that, he must be miserable.

"You can tell me later," she says. "You're not going anywhere for a while."

"Comforting." He repositions, getting more comfortable. "Thanks for not killing me yet."

"I'm a healer," she points out, bringing him a potion to help him sleep and heal. "I'm not going to kill you."

He takes the potion without protest, doesn't even wince at the taste. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

His voice is already fading into sleep, so Clarke doesn't bother responding. She takes one last look at him--tangled black hair, smooth tan skin dotted with freckles, solid muscle and good bone structure. His grace could be handsomeness; she'd been too busy to notice before.

It seems unlikely, but she adds the question to her list of things she needs the rebel to answer for her, before she decides what to do about him.

She has a feeling it's not going to be the last thing she adds.

*

Bellamy heals quickly, but when he asks if his grace is helping, he just shakes his head. "I assumed yours was. I've heard that's part of your grace."

Clarke glances around, but no one else is around, and their conversation is fairly private. "How much do you know about me?"

"Word gets around. Graced healers are popular."

That's not actually news. No one else she knows of has ever gotten _shot_ just to see her, but there are people who make the long trip from neighboring kingdoms in the hopes that she can help them with grave illnesses. Marcus had said it was fine because no one had known her grace was before the coup, but he'd never _liked_ it. But healing is her calling; she can't stop any more than she could stop breathing.

"That doesn't really answer my question," she points out.

"I know you've saved people who would have died if not for you. They don't call you Claire, by the way, just _the healer_. I've heard some of the other kingdoms want to take you away from Eligius, but they don't think they'd get away with it."

Clarke has to smile. Marcus and General Diyoza are old friends, which was why he'd chosen to come here after Arcadia fell in the first place. She still doesn't know what story he told about who she was, but she was never under official protection as anything other than a graceling orphan. It's the same protection she still has now; the king wouldn't take kindly to anyone trying to kidnap her.

But he couldn't stop her leaving, if she ever wanted to.

"I doubt they would."

"Has anyone ever tried?"

"I think you're the first."

"I'm not exactly another kingdom trying to steal you."

"Aren't you?"

He smiles. "I'm your kingdom."

It's what Clarke thinks of as a typical Bellamy statement, in that it _sounds_ helpful, but gives her almost no information. It should be frustrating, but--no one _talks_ about her kingdom, her status, anything about her old life. He's the first person who's ever brought Arcadia up to her like this, like she's still a part of it.

Like it's hers.

"You never told me how you got involved in this."

"I haven't told you a lot of things," he says, like she doesn't know that.

"Does that mean you're going to?"

"Are you coming with me when I leave?"

"I think I need more information before I leave with you."

His smile is a little sad. "Honestly, I don't know what to tell you to convince you."

There are good things she could say, smart things. She could ask him about his group of counter revolutionaries, what their plan is, what they expect her to do, how much power they'll want to have. Those are important questions that should determine what she does.

But at the heart of everything is her real question: can she trust him? Because if she trusts him, then she believes all the other questions she has have good answers.

And she wants to trust him.

"What's your grace?" she asks.

For a long moment, she thinks he won't answer. Maybe he doesn't actually know, hasn't found it yet. Maybe he is lying, and he doesn't want her to know the truth of his grace, either. Maybe he doesn't trust her.

But at last, he says, "History."

It's so bizarre it doesn't even occur to her to think he's lying. "History?"

"That's how I think of it." She gives him an impatient look and he ducks his head, smiling. "Honestly, I didn't figure out what it was until the coup happened. My family owns a tavern in Arcadia City, and one of the conspirators used to drink there. He always looked--different to me, I guess? It's hard to explain. It's like certain people glow. I saw the king once, he had it too. I couldn't figure out the pattern, I thought it was just connection to royalty, but after the coup--"

"The new leaders had it too, yeah. It's the people who make history. That's how I found the revolutionaries. And how I know the revolution is going to work. Or at least do something."

"Is that why they sent you to meet me?" she asks.

"Yeah. The princess should already be glowing."

"And I am?"

"Yeah. More, now."

"More?"

He shrugs. "I think it means you're going to come with me."

It's been a done deal for a long time, if she's honest. She's been waiting for something to come along, for any excuse to do something _more_.

She's a healer, and a princess. Her country needs fixing. She should be the one to fix it.

"I am," she agrees, and he grins, bright and wide. He's glowing, too. 

"Perfect. When are we leaving?"

*

"Your grace really doesn't help you with pain?" Clarke asks. They only have one horse, so she's riding behind him, trying not to let her anxiety show. She went back and forth on telling Marcus, finally decided it wasn't worth the risk. It would have been nice to have his help, but if he'd been opposed, he would have stopped her.

Once it's done, he can rejoin her court, if he wants. Or she'll be dead.

"It doesn't," Bellamy says, pulling her thoughts back from that unfortunate path. "Why?"

"If it doesn't, you have a very high tolerance for pain. I didn't think you'd be ready to go this soon."

"I still think that's you. I'm not ignoring the pain, I'm not in pain. That's your grace helping me, not mine."

"And when you rode in with an arrow in your gut?"

"I was in an incredible amount of pain," he says, flashing a grin over his shoulder. "I just powered through it."

"For the rebellion?"

"What, you don't think that's worth it?"

"You haven't told me how you got involved yet."

"There's not much to tell. If the group that overthrew your family had been good, I wouldn't have cared." He pauses, must realize how it sounds, because he adds, "No offense. But I was pretty young when the revolution happened, I didn't have much of an opinion on the royals. But when King Jacob was in power, my life was better, and after Diana took over, my life got worse. The older I got, the more I realized she was a tyrant and we needed her gone."

"So you looked at every revolutionary group until you found one that was going to succeed?"

"Well, almost."

"Almost?"

"There were a couple good people in a few different groups, so I just recruited them myself."

She laughs, resting her cheek against his back. "So, this is _your_ group."

"Not _just_ mine."

"Who else? You said your sister was the one who shot you, right?"

"Yeah, Octavia. She's a year or two younger than you are. I didn't want her to get involved, but--" He shrugs. "She told me it was her shitty kingdom too, and she was right. And I know she has something big to do. So as long as she's with me, I can keep an eye on her."

"Except right now."

"She dropped me off, but as soon as she did, she was supposed to go back to camp with everyone else." He smiles. "If this went wrong, at least I was the only one who'd get caught."

"Do you know you're important?" she asks, curious. "Do you have the destiny glow?"

"Me?"

He sounds genuinely surprised by the question, and she rolls her eyes even though he can't see. "You're making history, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I have it, yeah. It's actually, uh--it's been getting brighter? I feel a little weird about it."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It feels like cheating, I guess. Like I'm using my grace to force myself into history."

"Or your grace makes it easy for you to figure out where you can do the most good."

"Assuming I'm doing good. Maybe I'm getting closer and closer to becoming some shitty tyrant."

"You're using your grace the best you can, just like everyone else." She settles closer. "Tell me about the rest of our army. Do we have a plan for what to do next?"

"We're working on it," he says, and Clarke feels her eyes drift shut as she listens to him.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like she's going somewhere. And going in the right direction.

*

The rebellion grows quickly, once Clarke is involved. As Bellamy said, Queen Diana isn't exactly popular, and Clarke herself is, as it turns out, a good figurehead. She's not the most charismatic or the best at speeches--that's Bellamy, without a doubt--but she's smart and sympathetic, an orphan girl who's spent her life healing people. She's exactly the kind of leader they want, after a decade under Queen Diana's harsh rule. Word of her return spreads like wildfire, but hushed and careful, rumors that the various members of the rebellion track through taverns and eating houses.

The rumors get back to Eligius in no time, and they, through the twisted grapevine that brought them the news, sent word back that they would be happy to help get the rightful queen back onto her throne.

"I guess I should have told Marcus I was leaving," Clarke says, with a smile.

"Maybe." Bellamy shrugs. "As long as he's helping us, it doesn't matter much when it happens, right? And now you're doing it on your own terms. They're coming to be our allies, you're not anyone's pawn."

"What about yours?"

He rolls his eyes. "Like you listen to me."

"When you have good ideas, I do." She sobers. "Seriously, what are we going to do with an army?"

"Ideally? Not need it. That was why we wanted to find you, Clarke. Technically, with you alive, Queen Diana has no claim to the throne. But having a military force to back us--"

"Marcus might have proof," she says. "That I'm the princess."

"If he did, why wasn't he putting you back on the throne himself?"

"He thought it wasn't safe. He might have been right," she admits.

"You think?"

"The whole reason Diana could seize power is that she and her co-conspirators could take out the entire line of succession. I'm the one with a rightful claim to the throne, but I'm the only one left in the royal line. I'm going to need an army of bodyguards. Ones I can trust. Diana has a family; I'm a succession crisis waiting to happen."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

He sounds a little hurt, and Clarke's heart aches. "I thought it was obvious. And irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?"

"Diana is a bad ruler. We need her out of power. I'm the person who can get her out of power. Once she's out, then we worry about me."

"We can worry about you now," he says, petulant. 

"Once I have my throne, I'll get married. It's not a big deal."

"Oh yeah, marriage, totally minor."

"Pretty standard, for royalty. I don't mind," she adds. It's mostly, if not entirely, true. It's at least _potentially_ true. There are circumstances in which she can imagine getting married and not minding at all. "I always knew if I was going to reclaim my throne, I'd need to get married, and probably produce an heir."

"And you don't mind."

"I'm not thrilled. But I need to rule, and I think I have to do this to do that. You know I'm right."

He doesn't look pleased, but he admits, "I do know, yeah."

Marcus must know too, because when Clarke arrives at their meeting, he greets her with, "You couldn't have let me marry you off first?"

Clarke frowns. "First?"

"We should do it as soon as possible. I've been trying to find a suitable match so that you can be established before you try to reclaim the throne. I still think it's a good idea."

"What is?" Bellamy snaps. He's had a short fuse since their conversation about marriage, and Clarke is trying not to feel too hopeful about it. Not when there's still so much that could go wrong.

"I'm sorry," says Marcus, mild. "Who are you?"

"He's my friend and ally," says Clarke. "And I expect you to respect him."

"Fine. I think the princess should be at least engaged and ideally married before we contest Queen Diana's claim to the throne. If you throw a single girl with no living family into leadership of a country still recovering from a coup, it won't do much good."

"So you want us to wait to overthrow Arcadia until Clarke has a couple kids?" Octavia asks, arms crossed over her chest. She looks just like Bellamy when she does it, and Clarke can't help a smile. "Arcadia needs a new ruler _now_. You don't know what it's like, you haven't been living there."

"And if something happens to Clarke?"

"If she died as soon as she took power, she wouldn't be very important," Bellamy says. "And she is."

"I could die and start another revolution," Clarke points out, and he glares at her.

Marcus doesn't seem to notice. "We have some prospects for Clarke's marriage. More, since the rumors of her return have started. It won't take long."

"You can't just ask her to--" Bellamy starts, and Marcus whirls on him.

"I'm sorry, are you telling me that we can ask her to be the figurehead of a revolution, but marriage is going too far? I'm not the one who got her into this situation with no plan except confidence that my grace would guide me."

"Enough," says Clarke, rubbing her face. "This isn't helping." She glances between Marcus and Bellamy, trying to figure out which one to talk to first. 

It's not really much of a question; she loves Marcus, is grateful for all he did, but he's never been an _ally_ , an equal. He's always been someone who told her what to do, and Clarke's not interested in whom he thinks she should marry.

"I need to talk to Bellamy," she says. "Alone."

Judging from the look he shoots her, Marcus knows what she's planning to say, but Bellamy is just agitated, at least until everyone clears out. Then he deflates, the air and fight all going out of him. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Clarke asks, mild.

"This isn't any of my business. If you want to let Kane marry you off-"

She bites back on a smile. "Are you glowing more?"

"What?"

"Your grace. Are you getting more important?"

"We all are." But he's frowning, expression cloudy as he thinks about it. "I'm doing it more than anyone other than you, yeah. How did you know?"

It's easy to tell herself that there's only one possible reason, but there could be thousands. Maybe he'll put her in power and realize she's no better, commit regicide and make a name for himself like that. He could continue to be her friend, her confidante, her most trusted ally, and that could be enough for him to be as important as he's becoming.

But that's not what she thinks it's happening. Not what she's hoping for.

"Because I want to marry you," she says, with a small smile. "And if you want to marry me too, then you'll--"

"Marry me?" he asks, recovering enough to speak, but still clearly wrong-footed. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Kane said you had a lot of options, there must be a more politically advantageous--"

"I _want_ to marry _you_ ," she says, and his face melts into a smile as the words sink in.

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Kane isn't going to like it."

"No, but he can't stop me. I'll be married and happy and my royal husband won't have to live with the knowledge that I prefer one of my advisers to him. Probably good for the health of the country."

"Very logical," he teases. "Responsible. Does this mean I can't kiss you? If it's just for--"

She kisses him before he can finish the question, and he grins against her mouth, tugging her closer, settling in as if he's planning to do this for a long time.

"I'm planning on kissing you a lot more," she says. "But we should probably go tell Marcus so he can make arrangements for the wedding. And taking back the throne."

"Always something to do, huh?"

"We have history to make, right?"

"We do." He kisses her again, quick and soft, lovely. "Let's get to it."


End file.
